Duets Need Two People
by facelesshellion
Summary: No one talks about what to do after the war is over. Of course there's the easy stuff, but long-term is a different story. When all they know how to do is fight, adjusting to peace is harder than any of them imagined it would be. It says something that the boy who grew up in a cupboard is the most well-adjusted of them all.


Solo was an ache that never went away. Underneath the many, many deaths that weighed on Duo's shoulders like the world weighed on Atlas's, the memory of Solo's rattled breathing and glassy eyes clung tightly. In his (admittedly, few and far between) bouts of introspection, he can clinically note that Solo was the first person to care about him and subsequently the first person Duo ever lost. Regardless of how many deaths piled on afterwards, Solo's was the first.

Heero told him, once, that human memory is painfully unreliable. That the more people remember something, the more warped the memory gets. He went on about it for awhile until Duo forced another shot down his throat and dragged him to the dance floor. It was a weak defense for Heero's unwillingness to reminisce with the rest of them, but Duo figured avoidance and repression were better coping skills than those that the rest of them have picked up.

It stuck with him, though. Knowing that he can't completely trust his own memories is a difficult pill to swallow. Knowing that he might not even accurately remember Father Maxwell's, or Sister Helen's, or Solo's faces hurt. It's not like he has any photos of them to check against.

Duo Maxwell made himself who he is. He picked his name and every choice he's made afterwards has also been, if nothing else, his. He thinks that, based on what memories he feels are the most accurate and ignoring that some of the choices were spectacularly fucked ones to make, at least Sister Helen would be proud of him for taking responsibility. He thinks Solo would've understood, and he might've even made some of the same decisions if he had the opportunity to.

(He thinks that Solo never would've had a chance because it was already ridiculous to think that a street rat like Duo had somehow made it this far.)

Duo doesn't know exactly what day Solo had died, but he knows it was late summer. Everyone had been so cold even though temperatures had been through the roof, and shivering when everyone else was stripping off any extra layers had been the first symptom of that goddamned plague that wrecked their numbers so thoroughly. During the war, the seasons didn't matter much since they were constantly traveling and hit every type of climate there was at some point. Keeping track of the date was less about the actual date and more about how much time was between it and whatever their next deadline was. Now, in the aftermath, Duo has a (semi-) regular schedule and actually notices when July rolls around.

It's an anniversary of sorts, even if he doesn't have an exact date. For the first weeks of the month, he's melancholic in a different way than the Maxwell Massacre's anniversary brings out in him. That day is about sorrow and regret and the pain of losing so many innocent people in one blow. This melancholy is about lost potential. It's about half-forgotten memories that still hurt when he thinks about them, and the realization that his friend had been so, so painfully young.

While Duo had been in the war, he hadn't realized how young he and his fellow pilots were. They were indestructible, the strongest people on the planet—but in hindsight, they were children who could've died at any moment. Hell, they were still in the midst of puberty while they were killing hundreds. He looks at fifteen-year-olds now and wants to be sick when he imagines them going through what he did. Admittedly, he's not that much older now—At seventeen, he's still young, but he's now aware of it.

(Not that that stopped him from joining up with the Preventers the minute they offered him a place.)

He feels the same way when he sees a kid and imagines them caring for a tinier, needier, younger toddler. Solo had split his food with him, always, and Duo always complained and begged for more. He had carried Duo and kept him warm, gave him the cleanest and least worn clothes they had, smiled and hugged him, and even when Duo was a brat, Solo had taken it in stride.

He doesn't remember Solo ever being mad at him. He doesn't remember Solo ever crying. He doesn't remember if Solo talked about his life before the gang, or how he even got the gang together, or why he took care of Duo when he was clearly just a drain on their already taxed resources.

He remembers that smile, though. No matter what Heero says about memories being faded and worn and messed up over time, Solo's "everything's fine, don't worry" smile will always be there. He's mimicked it himself so many times and can always tell that it's a poor copy.

Heero says, "You've been brooding."

Duo thinks brooding is a strong word. He'd argue that maybe he's been focusing on Solo, and maybe it's because Solo's easier to focus on than the rest of his trauma. He can internally, sorta-kinda admit that he's been obsessing, thinking more and more about Solo until he's bursting with the need to talk to someone about him. It's out of character for him—For as much as he refuses to lie, he doesn't much care for talking about anything of importance.

Heero waits, and even though there's no expectation in his statement, Duo eventually caves.

"You know those things that just don't leave ya? The pre-war shit, before we had gundams, the tiny things that just sorta. Made you who you are."

"Sure. I have my fair share of pre-war 'shit.'"

"How do you deal with it?"

Heero takes a moment and thinks before he says, "I don't."

"Helpful, man."

"What is it you need help with?"

Duo blows out a slow breath and shrugs, a little helplessly. "I just. You'd think I'd be fixated on pretty much anything else, but I can't get something outta my head. This—" His throat closes up briefly, suddenly terrified to say it out loud. It passes fairly quickly, but Heero catches the pause and sits up straighter. "This kid had been. He was. Important. When I was little."

"How so?"

"He was. Well. I was a street rat pretty much my entire life, like I don't remember anything before that. Just like I don't remember anything before Solo. He was the gang leader, but he was also my—I guess guardian? I dunno man, he took care of me. Even though I was a total pain and pretty much useless."

"Sounds like a good kid."

"He died," Duo says. It's almost unnecessary to say out loud, because neither of them have anyone from before the war. Not like Quatre, who has more sisters than anyone would know what to do with, or Trowa, who has Catherine and a random smattering of mercenaries. Or even Wufei, who has a weird clique with some intellectual types he had met that left for Earth before his colony was destroyed. "From this really, god-fuckin-awful plague. He was so sick and still taking care of the others who were sick. Almost everyone made it."

"Except for him."

Duo nods sharply. "Except for him."

Heero grabs Duo's shoulder in a just-slightly-too-firm grip—Still so awkward at physical contact after these years, but he tries. "What do you need?"

"Don't worry about it—"

"Duo."

The thing about Heero is that, for all that he's an emotionally stunted wreck, he's absolutely the sincerest of all of them. He doesn't hide the fact that he's struggling without a warfront like the rest of them do, and he never offers help out of obligation. Even Duo, for as much as he loves these guys, has occasionally ignored a phone call and pulled the "sorry, was busy, what can I do ya for?" card when he was feeling drained. Heero always picks up if it's one of them, always drops what he's doing and genuinely does his best to help them out.

And Duo knew that, so he's being a little bit of a manipulative shit. Because he knew Heero would offer, even if Duo couldn't bring himself to ask.

"I think it would help if I just. Did he even exist?" Duo asks, with a small laugh. "If there was even just one record of him, maybe if I could find out if he was another nameless street rat or if he actually had anyone—I don't know. It's a longshot."

Heero reaches behind him and grabs his laptop. Or, a laptop. Duo hasn't figured out yet if Heero has one laptop that magically positions itself wherever he needs it to be or if he has a dozen scattered around his apartment, ready to be pulled out whenever he needs one. "Tell me what you remember. Names, significant dates, physical details—I'll do what I can."

"I really don't have much."

He gets an eye roll for that and a gesture to get on with it.

Whether it's a sign of how much he trusts Heero or how far he's come in healing, talking about Solo is barely a fraction of how painful he thought it would be.

"Well, he was small. We all were. He was probably around ten or so when he died, maybe eleven. Mixed descent, definitely. I think Indian, but I'm not exactly the most culturally aware guy so that's a guess that could be offensively wrong."

Heero glances up from his screen when Duo trails off. "And?" he prompts.

"Sorry, I just. I remembered he had this wild hair. Like, crazy curls. It always tickled my nose when we'd be hiding, no matter how often we tried to cut it short. He liked it longer because it covered some of his rougher scars. And he had really green eyes. Like Tro's, kinda, but—"

"Green eyes?" Heero repeats. "That actually narrows it down a lot."

"What, seriously? Why?"

"Without getting into an entire biology lecture, when we were young, there were pollutants on some of the different colonies. There's controversy regarding whether these were intentionally placed by the government for experimental reasons or they were a byproduct of poor manufacturing practices. These chemicals were noticed after a few generations because of how it affected the genetics of children born on the colonies.

"L2 in particular had a noteworthy teratogen that caused children born on the colony to be incapable of developing non-blue eyes. There's obviously variation within that too—Your eyes, for instance, are more purple than any Earth-born blue-eyed individual would have, due to whatever was being pumped into L2's atmosphere. I'm sure there were variations of gray and blue, and anyone who was born elsewhere but moved to L2 could, obviously, have non-blue eyes."

"So that means Solo wasn't born on L2," Duo says slowly. "And that means there's a shuttle record somewhere."

"Possibly," Heero says. "If he traveled legally, it should be fairly easy to find. I'll check the records from five years before you were born to the year he died."

Something that has, and likely always will be, an unspoken agreement between them is how little they care for laws. Chang became a goodie-two-shoes the minute the war was over to the surprise of absolutely no one, and Quatre feels that the best way for people to gain confidence in the new system is to follow it himself. Trowa does what Quatre does because he's a moron in love, or else he'd probably be on the same side of the fence as Duo and Heero are. Heero's blatant disregard for rules and the like is mostly due to them never having applied to him and the ease in avoiding any consequences associated with breaking them.

Duo thinks that as long as they aren't killing anyone anymore, they did more than enough to earn some free passes. Heero sneaking into databases he technically doesn't have clearance for won't hurt anyone, really.

He ends up passing out somewhere along the way when it becomes clear Heero doesn't need anything else from him. He used to at least be able to keep up with Heero's hacking, even if he couldn't replicate it. Since the war, Heero's skills have grown way past the little bit his doctor had taught him to complete his missions.

Duo really wouldn't be surprised if Heero had dirt on every politician on Earth. He's still as weirdly protective of Relena as ever, and if it hadn't been for years of nothing happening between them, he'd say that Heero was still as much of a moron in love as Trowa is.

(The difference between them being: Relena clearly has approached Heero and been rejected at least twice, whereas Trowa won't admit he's not as straight as he wants to be and refuses to take a step more towards Quatre.)

He thinks he gets a few hours of sleep, head uncomfortably tilted back and arms tucked across his chest, before Heero nudges him awake. He misses the days when that would be enough sleep, when he could keep going for days before he'd need to rest again. He feels like he spends half his life asleep, wasting time that could be better spent doing, literally, anything else.

Heero gives him a minute to stretch and wake up, which is uncharacteristic. His laptop is also closed, and Duo tries not to be disappointed. He turns to him, gives a small smile, and says, "Hey, it's cool if you didn't find anything, I wasn't expecting much, I just—"

"No, that's. I found something. I'm just. Not sure how to tell you."

"Just let me look, that way—"

"No," He says firmly. "No, you don't want to see it. I'll tell you. It's better this way."

A shiver rolls up his spine. "That bad?"

Heero doesn't answer right away. He scrubs a hand over his face and tonelessly states, "Solo was brought to L2 by his maternal aunt when he was five. She and her husband had gained custody of him after his parents were killed—Cause of death unknown, but considering they mysteriously dropped dead simultaneously, it was assumed to be murder. Perpetrator unknown.

"His aunt only bought one ticket for the shuttle back, which departed approximately two days after their original arrival."

"So he was dumped there, big whoop. That's not exactly unexpected—"

"The name his original ticket had been under was Harry James Potter."

"Original—"

"In July of AC 187, there was a ticket bought for Harry James Potter to return to Earth. He was checked into a hospital upon arrival and remained there for two months. After that, he is on record as having went to boarding school until he was sixteen, after which he disappeared until he turned eighteen.

"There are reports of child abuse and neglect accusations, even from before his time on L2, though all were investigated and dismissed despite some damning photos from his medical files."

Heero pauses and hesitantly takes Duo's hand, holding it tight. He hadn't realized he was shaking until Heero did that. "Obviously, none of this is certain. Records can be faked. There are photos that appear to be unaltered, but they are unpleasant."

"Unpleasant?" He chokes out.

"The only ones I could find were from him stepping out of the original shuttle and those from his medical records. There weren't any children other than Potter that fit the profile you gave me, but again, if he somehow got to L2 through illegal means, that likely wouldn't be recorded anywhere. So it might not be Solo."

"You don't buy that."

"No," Heero admits. "It's difficult to get to the colonies undetected unless you take a single-seat shuttle, and it's extremely unlikely that a child as young as Solo could pilot one and somehow remain unnoticed.

"If we want to be sure, though, you need to look at the photos. Or, at least the one from the shuttle. The medical ones—"

"Show me."

There's more hesitation, but Heero eventually opens his laptop and turns the screen for Duo to see.

The photo is pretty good quality, he thinks. He can make out the spidery scar that crawled across his entire forehead and just slightly past his eyebrows. The green eyes are there, and the curls. He's so much smaller than Duo remembers, because as campy and ridiculous as it sounds, Solo always seemed like he was ten feet tall. He was so strong.

But this is a child. Who looks scared, who has a dark black eye, who is cowering as a woman drags him out by his small wrist.

Heero's eyes are wide and he pushes the laptop away suddenly, shoves Duo's head between his legs and starts talking meaningless nonsense trying to calm him down. Duo hadn't even realized he wasn't calm until he tried to take a breath and couldn't. He manages to gasp a, "That's him, it's him, fuck, it's him."

"Okay, we'll deal with it. We'll deal with it, Duo. It'll be okay."

He demands to see the other photos the minute he calms down. Heero refuses. Duo demands again, and Heero says, "One panic attack is enough for the day, I think."

"It might not be the same person who left," Duo argues. "It could be someone else who just took his name and slotted in. Like Trowa."

"It's the same person," Heero says. "The scar on his forehead is the same."

"Not knowing is stressing me out more than knowing will."

"I'm not saying I'll never show you, but I think we should call it a night."

It goes on, way past what Duo means for it to. He recognizes that Heero is making the right call. He knows if Heero is saying he can't handle it right now, that he can't. It feels like he should fight it though, that he should try to take control over a situation that has gone so FUBAR Duo doesn't have a clue what to do.

He was hoping to find out who Solo's parents were. See if they were still around, see if they had other family. He wanted to righteously hate them for abandoning Solo, get blackout drunk and curse their name, and then hopefully move on past this fixation. Let Solo rest, at last. That should have been the end of this adventure.

Instead, he now knows that Solo is out there. He wonders what he thinks of post-war life.

Heero finally locks his laptop down and declares that he's going to bed.

"If you want to stay the night, you know where everything is."

Duo snickers. "The new apartment feel's gone then, eh? You used to want to play host anytime I showed up."

Heero's lip twitches up. "The downside to being a good host is that people keep coming back."

"Is that a hint?"

"Of course not," Heero quickly reassures. "You're always welcome. You just don't get the five-star treatment after I already gave you five-star work."

Duo stands up and crosses the room to drag Heero into a tight hug. Heero is still not great at that, either, but he doesn't shake him off. "I owe you, man. You're the best and I—" He cuts himself off and finishes with, "Thanks."

Heero nods and, surprisingly, doesn't step out of the hug. Duo squeezes him one last time, but before he can pull back, Heero suddenly wraps his own arms around him.

"Can you do something for me in return?"

Duo's brow furrows, but he nods. "Anything. Whatcha need?"

"Can you stop calling me 'man'? I hate it."

Duo knows better than anyone that anything can be a trigger, or at the very least be uncomfortable under the weight of associated memories. He still remembers the meltdown Quatre had when he smelled the perfume Hilde left behind at the scrapyard once. There was also the time when Trowa nearly punched him for getting him a game system for his birthday a few years back, which wasn't half as bad as the time Chang started crying and locked himself in the bathroom when the movie they were watching had a wedding.

It was only a matter of time before one of Heero's popped up. He wants to ask, just like he wants to know about everyone else's, but this isn't an asking thing. This is a "if they want to talk about it, they'll bring it up" thing.

"No problem, buddy. Whatever you need."

They squeeze each other tight for a moment longer before Heero hurriedly pulls away and hides himself in his room.

Sometimes, Duo wishes they could be right for each other. With just another ounce of compatibility, they could be perfect. He thinks he could make Heero deliriously happy if things were just slightly different. If he had stumbled across the idiot before Relena, if he was less abrasive, if Heero was a little more self-aware, if they both could be better with talking about feelings—

He thinks they're damn great already, but sometimes it hurts to know this is how far it'll go—With Duo on the couch and both miserably single, reaching for some kind of connection and just not finding it in each other. He thinks they could've been fantastic.

He wonders if Solo has anyone. He had been strong and kind, and if his memories and the one photo he saw are any indication, he probably grew up beautiful. Solo deserves someone nice, Duo thinks.

He falls asleep pretty easily despite his swirling thoughts. A remnant from the war, where sleep was precious enough that not being able to drop off wasn't an option. No matter how nervous or frightened, Duo's always been able to catch a few hours.

He wonders if Solo has nightmares about L2 like Duo does, or if he also makes sure not to sleep long enough to let them happen.


End file.
